Some days the sky feels larger than usual. On a sunny blue-sky day, a fantail and a butterfly briefly shared the same boundless canvas above, inspiring this tanka about wonder, flight, and Nature’s sunlit cosmic dome.
Sky Blue Dome (a Tanka)
I see a Fantail
En route to his sky-blue home
And a butterfly
Bravely fluttering toward
Nature’s sunlit cosmic dome
As this tanka found its wings, then a song arrived, as if it had been part of the journey all along.
Ivor Steven © November 2026
Hello, dear readers and followers. I contribute to Coffee House Writers Magazine (USA) every second week, and I’m delighted to share that my latest poem, “Steve the Snail Goes Visiting (a Haiku),” appears in the new issue. You can read it by following the link below.
>> Steve the Snail Goes Visiting – Coffee House Writers
Frankie and I headed out for a damp mid-afternoon walkie and happened upon Steve the Snail and several of his friends, all making the most of the misty rain. From the look of it, Steve was on an important mission…
Some adventures begin with a single glide across a garden path. A little haiku, a curious snail, and a song about an unexpected journey.
Until Eyes Hear Sound
Amazon >> Amazon.com : Until Eyes Hear Sound
Lulu Books >> Until Eyes Hear Sound (lulu.com)
Perceptions:
Amazon >> Perceptions : Steven, Ivor, Knight, Derrick: Amazon.com.au: Books
Lulu Books >> Perceptions (lulu.com)
Tullawalla:
Amazon >> Tullawalla A Meeting Place Where My Empty Hands are Full of Memories and Rhymes : Steven, Ivor: Amazon.com.au: Books
OR: >> You may email me directly for a signed copy at
ivorrs20@gmail.com … and I can send you a PayPal invoice
for the Book, plus Postage.
Ivor Steven © November 2026
“A blade of grass is the journeywork of the stars.”
― Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass
Snakes in the Grass
Through my eyes of broken glass
I see a holy battleground’s
Blades of bloodied lemongrass
Are still being voraciously mowed down
With my soul drowning in molten brass
I hear the sands of time blowing past
The desperate outstretched hands
Of the world’s prevailing peaceful class
Beneath skies of darkening light
I feel whispers falling upon this warring blight
Why does truth linger on our damaged blindside
While fear and falsehoods hide?
Some battles are fought in fields, others in hearts. Beneath every blade of grass, a story waits unseen, and sometimes quiet warnings arrive on the gentlest breeze.
Ivor Steven © November 2026
Some evening skies seem to wear a crown of their own. These three photographs inspired a short reflection on the changing shapes of cloud and light as day drifts into twilight.
Over at Weekly Prompts, the Colour Challenge for October is Grey/Gray. To visit their fabulous site, please click >> Here.
Two Crowns
Eventide
The sun is settling down
behind the horizon’s heliotrope clouds
draped in ribbons of golden brown
Twilight Time
the clouds are drifting down
over the horizon’s terraced treetops
cloaked by the corpulent sky’s chunky crown
Beyond Time
Nature’s wonders are our world’s comfy eiderdown
surrounding the horizon’s mystical realm:
there endures the planet’s glorious crown
Some crowns are worn for a moment, others endure beyond time. The beauty of our world asks for nothing more than to be noticed.
Ivor Steven © November 2026
I wrote this poem in November 2017 during one of my neuralgia attacks. At the time, I genuinely felt as though I was approaching the end of the road. Yet, in the end, it could not happen. There was simply too much love surrounding me. The poem was written in two parts, and for Part 2, “An Answer Follows”, my dear friend Terry Fielding later composed a song using those words. The audio recording is included below.
What began as a poem during a difficult time was later transformed into song by my dear friend, Terry Fielding.
Throwback Friday, Followed By Two, featuring Part 2, “An Answer Follows”
Part 1. One Day Follows
The abyss is bigger, not less
On these days of darkness
The owls are singing sad tunes
On these days of bad moons
The brain is harpooned again
On these days of constant pain
The sunshine has gone, I confess
On these days of over stress
The mind has little attitude
On these days of sleepy solitude
Part 2. An Answer Follows
You’ve all walked into my heart
And you’ve run into my past
You’ve all flooded into my soul
And you’ve soared into my dreams
I crave that … one day soon
Tomorrow, or another day too
That all your kind hearts
Will be bathing themselves
In the soothing oils
Of your glorious souls
Music has long been part of Terry’s life. Before listening to our collaboration, enjoy this performance of The Fields of Athenry, recorded in his home studio.
Until Eyes Hear Sound
Amazon >> Amazon.com : Until Eyes Hear Sound
Lulu Books >> Until Eyes Hear Sound (lulu.com)
Perceptions:
Amazon >> Perceptions : Steven, Ivor, Knight, Derrick: Amazon.com.au: Books
Lulu Books >> Perceptions (lulu.com)
Tullawalla:
Amazon >> Tullawalla A Meeting Place Where My Empty Hands are Full of Memories and Rhymes : Steven, Ivor: Amazon.com.au: Books
OR: >> You may email me directly for a signed copy at
ivorrs20@gmail.com … and I can send you a PayPal invoice
for the Book, plus Postage.
Ivor Steven © November 2026
After overnight rain, a puddle became an ocean and Steve the Snail became an explorer. Setting out with water wings and a sense of adventure, he inspired this playful tanka about a determined voyage in search of the sea.
Steve the Snail Goes Swimming (a Tanka)
I’m a floating home
An old snail with water wings
Dancing and swimming
A real amphibian
Bravely searching for the sea
Some journeys begin with a puddle and a little imagination. Steve was already searching for the sea when “Ocean” arrived to accompany him on the way.
Ivor Steven © November 2026
Some Australian traditions have a way of returning each year as faithfully as the seasons. Melbourne Cup Day is one of them. Inspired by a half-moon drifting across a spring sky and a chance encounter between Frankie and a horse on our evening walk, this poem reflects on a race that briefly captures the nation’s attention.
An Aussie Tradition
The first Tuesday in November,
even the chary moon remembers
it’s Melbourne Cup Day,
a 165-year-old Australian tradition.
The day when the nation
stops for a horse race,
and even non-gamblers come out of hibernation,
up the ante without feeling out of place.
For a few fleeting minutes,
the nation’s heartbeat follows the pounding hooves.
And somewhere above the track,
the old chary moon remembers once again.
As the old chary moon remembers once again, here’s Slim Dusty’s tribute to Australia’s most famous horse race.
Ivor Steven © November 2026
Some photographs linger in the mind long after they are taken. These images of a bird beneath the sun and moon quietly followed me into sleep and became a dream. By morning, the dream had found its wings and eventually became this wishful song.
Another Wishful Song
I dreamt of being a peaceful dove,
blissfully flying above
our spectacular solar sun
and our magnanimous moon.
I gazed out upon
the universe’s vast beyond.
Would my weary, wishful wings
carry me to where I belong?
Am I wrong
to imagine there’s another song
further away than my kingdom’s billabong?
Some dreams remain with us long after we wake. This song felt like a fitting companion for one that found its wings.
Ivor Steven © November 2026
Yesterday’s heavy sky hung low and grey, yet the birds seemed unconcerned. Their black-and-white silhouettes drifted between cloud and light, carrying a quiet reminder that even beneath the heaviest skies, nature continues to write its own story. This poem grew from those fleeting moments in flight.
Black and White Bookends
Come fly with me, my friends,
I’ve heard our heavy sky’s on the mend,
defying the world’s breathless trend.
Today is not the end.
Feel free, there’s no need to pretend.
Let us all transcend
this man-made pitchblende.
We are not to be condemned
for wearing nature’s black-and-white portends,
between her unpenned bookends.
The black-and-white birds drifted on beneath a healing sky, while the clouds continued writing their own silent story on the wind.
Nature’s bookends are no longer unpenned. A poem now sits quietly on the shelf between them.
Ivor Steven © November 2026
Some theories attempt to explain the mysteries of the universe. Others focus on more pressing questions, such as where all the missing socks have gone.
This light-hearted poetic response was inspired by a post by Khadija Shabbir on August 14th.
Khadija Shabbir >>
I consider myself a very logical person. – She Knows All
And at Weekly Prompts, since it’s the last weekend of the month, the challenge is to include the words ‘One Day’ in your Post. To visit their fabulous site, please click >> Here.
“My One Sock Theory”
All the single missing socks
are being siphoned off by AI
There is only one “I” in AI
and there are trillions
of AI guys zooming around;
so all the single “I” guys,
in that infinite AI world,
need a sock to wear,
for every stressed-out single Black “I”—
especially when stepping into
the cold, deep theories
about the mysterious Black-holes.
For now, the lone sock keeps its secrets. The evidence has been found. The mystery remains.
Ivor Steven © November 2026
